Work Text:
Something felt different.
It was just an ordinary day—no, it should have been an ordinary day. But the moment Cheongmyeong opened his eyes, a strange heaviness clung to him.
He blinked up at the ceiling, his vision blurry, his limbs sluggish. The sun had already risen, its light reaching through the window, and he could hear the distant clang of swords from the training grounds.
Late.
'I’m late.'
But his body refused to move, the weight pressing down on his chest as if someone had laid a mountain upon him in his sleep. He had always been up before dawn, driven by the endless need to sharpen his blade, to push past exhaustion, to be stronger. And yet, today, his body felt foreign, sluggish and unwilling.
Cheongmyeong sucked in a breath and forced himself up. His muscles ached in a way that training alone couldn’t explain. His skin felt clammy despite the cool mountain air.
“Ugh…”
He dragged himself through the motions—clothing, sword, hair, all in place. It felt automatic. Hollow.
Stepping outside, the bright sunlight seared his tired eyes.
“Hiek—!”
The disciples closest to him jolted, their spines snapping straight at the sight of him. For a second, they stared in shock, as if witnessing something unnatural, before hurriedly returning to their drills, the tension in the air palpable.
“Tsk! Did you just roll down from the mountain? You’re unusually late.”
Baek Cheon’s voice cut through the silence, his face laced with the usual exasperation.
'This brat…'
Cheongmyeong clicked his tongue. His retort came out sharp but lacked its usual bite.
“What, are you keeping track of my routine now? That’s a little creepy, Sahyung.”
The words were there. The mocking tone was there. But something was missing.
Baek Cheon frowned. His sharp eyes flicked over Cheongmyeong, ready to defend his honor. But before he could say anything, Cheongmyeong had already turned away.
The disciples were waiting.
Waiting for the inevitable scolding. The sneering remarks. The sharp eyes that would pick apart every flaw in their form.
And yet, the expected tirade never came.
Silence.
Cheongmyeong simply watched.
His expression unreadable. His usually sharp gaze, now dull.
The unease among the disciples grew.
'Just nag us already, you bastard!'
'Please, just get angry already!'
'Ancestors, I’m scared.'
Even Baek Cheon had fallen quiet, his usual rebuttals forgotten as he observed the way Cheongmyeong stood—not with the casual arrogance of a predator ready to pounce, but with something… off. His posture was looser, shoulders not as squared, his eyes heavier than usual.
It took effort, but Cheongmyeong forced himself back into the role they expected.
“Are you brats practicing staring techniques instead of sword techniques?! Focus you darn bastards!”
The words came, but the fire didn’t. His tone was off—too tired, too human...
Still, the disciples flinched, scrambling to obey. He should have found some amusement in that. But today, it all felt like distant noise.
Throughout the day, he barked commands, corrected forms, and scolded mistakes, but something in his voice rang hollow. Even Soso had noticed—she had all but tried to drag him to the medicine hall, only to be swiftly shut down by his usual stubbornness.
By evening, Cheongmyeong had given up the pretense.
Without a word, he left.
------
The mountain was quiet at night. The wind was cool against his feverish skin as he sat beneath the tree, a bottle cradled in his hands. Several others lay scattered around him, empty.
He brought the bottle to his lips, the burn of the alcohol barely registering as it slid down his throat.
He wasn’t sure when his hands started shaking.
'Maybe I drank too much…'
His head was heavy. His vision swam. The world blurred—
And suddenly, he wasn’t on Mount Hua anymore.
He was home.
Truly home.
Laughter rang through the courtyard, warm and bright. His Sahyungs surrounded him, their voices full of life, teasing, bickering, drinking. The scent of stolen wine and roasted meat filled the air, a feast smuggled away from the elders. He could feel the warmth of their shoulders brushing against his, the weight of an arm slung over his neck.
"Cheongmyeong, you little rat! You took the biggest portion again!"
"Hah! If you wanted it, you should've been faster, Sahyung!"
They laughed. He laughed with them.
For a moment, everything was as it should have been.
And then—
The laughter twisted.
The warmth drained.
The courtyard melted away, replaced by a battlefield soaked in red.
His hands were empty.
His Sahyungs stood before him, their faces pale, their eyes hollow. Blood dripped from their robes, seeping into the dirt beneath their feet.
.
.
.
"You survived."
"We didn't."
"Sahyung..."
"Why didn't you save us?"
His breath hitched. He stumbled back. "I tried. I tried to save you—"
"Did you?" With a stern voice, he was interrupted.
His oldest Sahyung took a step closer. The weight of his gaze crushed the breath from Cheongmyeong’s lungs.
"You should've fought harder."
"You should've died with us."
"Why are you still here?"
He couldn't breathe. The voices overlapped, grew louder—angrier.
"Sahyung..."
Their bloodied hands approached him.
"Sahyung!!"
"SahYUNG!!!"
"SAHYUNG WHY DID YOU LIVE?!!!"
A sharp gasp tore from his lips as he jolted awake.
Cold sweat drenched his back. His chest heaved, his throat raw. His hands trembled violently, his fingers curling into his robes as if trying to ground himself, to remind himself—
He was here.
He was alive.
They weren’t.
A broken sound clawed its way out of his throat.
His body curled in on itself as the weight of it all crashed down on him. Tears fell relentlessly as sobs wracked his body. The years, the loss, the emptiness he had buried so deep, convinced himself he had already suffered through—
He had never grieved.
Not really...
Not fully.
-------
The five swords were restless.
Cheongmyeong’s absence was hardly unusual, but today had been different.
Something wasn’t right.
“He went up the mountain, didn’t he?” Jo Gul said, unease creeping into his voice.
“Maybe he’s just drinking again.”
Baek Cheon’s jaw clenched. “That’s exactly the problem.”
Yun Jong exhaled sharply. “When has he ever acted the way he did today?”
No one had an answer. They all glanced around with each other and after some time, nodded with the same thought in mind.
And so, they hurriedly climbed the mountain.
As they went further up, the air became thick with the scent of alcohol. And then—
They saw him.
Slumped against the tree, surrounded by a concerning amount of empty bottles, and some, still unopened.
He was....shaking.
A sound barely escaped him, muffled, broken. A sob he had no strength left to contain.
Baek Cheon’s breath caught.
Cheongmyeong, who had never wavered, never cracked, never faltered—
The sharp-tongued brat who insulted them daily, who terrorized them, who acted as if nothing in the world could so much as shake him—
He was crying.
Alone.
His shoulders trembled, his hands clenched as if trying to keep himself together. But the cracks had already formed, and tonight, he was breaking.
Baek Cheon moved without thinking.
His knees hit the ground beside him, but Cheongmyeong didn’t react. He barely seemed to register the presence beside him, too lost in whatever storm had swallowed him whole. His shoulders trembled, his hands curled into his robe, gripping so tightly his knuckles turned white.
They had never seen him like this before.
They had seen Cheongmyeong angry. Amused. Smug beyond belief. He had seen him furious, seen him bleed, seen him fight until his body nearly gave out.
But never this.
Never shaking, never curled in on himself like he was trying to keep from falling apart.
The others stood frozen. No one spoke, no one moved.
Because what could they possibly say?
The scent of alcohol was thick in the air, and the bottles surrounding him told a story none of them wanted to acknowledge. Cheongmyeong drank often, but he never drank to forget.
And yet, tonight, it was clear—he had been trying to drown something.
Baek Cheon swallowed hard. His hand, steady despite the turmoil in his chest, landed on Cheongmyeong’s shoulder.
“Cheongmyeong.” He said as he embraced him, however the name came out quieter than he intended. Filled with uncertainty and worry.
Cheongmyeong flinched. It was slight—just the barest tensing of muscles—but it was enough. His breath hitched, and for the first time since they arrived, his dull, bleary eyes flickered to awareness.
Baek Cheon pulled away as he felt Cheongmyeong finally recognize their presence.
He stared at Baek Cheon as if surprised to see that he was here, that they were here. He then looked up, and when he saw them standing there, his expression cracked.
For just a moment, the five swords saw it.
Raw and unfiltered.
The grief. The exhaustion. The weight he had carried alone for so long, buried so deep that even he had likely forgotten it was still there.
Then, just as quickly, it vanished.
Cheongmyeong let out a rough exhale, his trembling hands unclenching as he forced himself upright.
“Tsk.” His voice came hoarse, barely above a whisper. “What’s with those looks? Did someone die?”
Silence.
Baek Cheon didn’t answer. Neither did Yun Jong, Jo Gul, Yu Iseol or Soso.
They only watched as he wiped at his face with a shaky hand, as he let out a bitter chuckle that barely held together.
He wouldn’t explain. He wouldn’t let them see more than he already had. He would shove it all down again, wear his smirk like armor, pretend nothing had happened.
They knew this.
But tonight…
Tonight, they wouldn’t let him drink alone.
Baek Cheon shifted, reaching for one of the discarded bottles.
Cheongmyeong blinked as Baek Cheon tipped it back, taking a slow sip before exhaling. He wrinkled his nose. “This is awful.”
Cheongmyeong chuckled.
Then, Yun Jong sat down. Then Jo Gul. Then the others.
None of them spoke about what they had just witnessed. None of them asked what had caused it.
They wouldn't, not until he was ready to tell them himself.
Cheongmyeong looked down at the bottle still clutched in his hands. His fingers curled around the glass, and for a long moment, he just… sat there.
The night was quiet, the wind rustling through the trees, the sky stretching endlessly above them.
Then, finally, he let out a slow, shuddering breath.
His fingers loosened, and the bottle met the ground with a soft thud.
It finally dawned on him.
It was that day of October.
The time of the year when his Sahyungs and Sajaes would have pestered him endlessly. When they would have laughed, teased, and stolen moments of warmth he never thought to cherish enough.
He swallowed.
‘I guess I missed them too much.’
They were gone. They had been gone for countless years. He had lived through this day so many times without them.
But this time…
At least, he wasn’t alone.